Wave your hand below it and a dispenser will spit out a towel for your use. A simple economic, ecological concept and process.

Except. At this moment, two of the dispensers displayed symptoms of some form of mechanical possession. Mindlessly they churned. With no one seeking a towel, they churned. On and on they churned.

One produced an endless stream of towels that created a pile on the sink. The other, empty, simply spun, grinding gears, producing nothing.

As I found a dispenser that worked as intended by its designers, I pondered the mysteries of the moment. The mysteries of spinning one’s wheels and producing nothing. The mysteries of spinning one’s wheels and producing something that no one wants.